


Panic! At El Clasico

by vatreniworld



Series: Luka Wins Everything [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Like all other works of this series this is pure crack, Penguins, mass chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatreniworld/pseuds/vatreniworld
Summary: There were three things Lionel Messi wanted to know. One: why were his teammates late for El Clasico? Two: why was effectively all of Real Madrid FC missing? Three: why were there penguins on the field?





	Panic! At El Clasico

**Author's Note:**

> Musical Inspiration: “Everything is Alright” by Motion City Soundtrack
> 
> Crossposted from my blog.

Something was off.

Ivan glanced around in his seat on Barcelona’s club bus for any sign of a driver.

“Does anyone know where the driver is?” Ivan asked uneasily. He checked his phone for the time. “We have to be at the stadium soon.”

Marc scrunched his nose in thought. “Dunno. It’s weird, though.”

Ivan nodded.

An instant later, a flash of blonde hair appeared out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced toward the front of the bus to find Ema Modrić poking at various dials and levers on the bus’s dashboard.

“Ema?” He stood out of his seat and filed through the aisle. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m your bus driver.”

“You…you can’t drive, Ema. You don’t have a license.”

“Mama says that can’t and shouldn’t are two different things,” she said plainly before hopping into the driver’s seat. Her legs dangled off the edge of the seat, but her feet were nowhere near the gas and brake pedals. Still, she put both of her hands on either side of the steering wheel and sat up as straight as she could to peek over the upper rim of the wheel.

“You should sit down, Uncle Raketa,” she commented offhandedly. “We’ll be leaving in a minute.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Ema, the joke’s over. You need to get out of the bus. And we,” he motioned to himself and the rest of the team, “need to get to the stadium.”

Two button-brown eyes stared at him sharp enough to cut him in two. “Are you going to make me?”

Ivan didn’t know why that sounded more like a threat than a question.

He cleared his throat. “If I have to. Besides,” he gestured to her dangling legs, “your feet can’t even reach the pedals.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Never stopped me before.”

Ivan blinked and squeaked, “What?”

“Hang on, everyone!” Ema bellowed over her shoulder into the main cabin of the bus. A second later, she pulled the lever to slam the bus door shut behind Ivan.

“Ema, what’re you doing, Ema?!” Ivan panicked.

Ema huffed in frustration, “I already told you, Uncle Raketa.” She turned her attention to the road (or what bit of the road she could see over the steering wheel) and shifted the vehicle into first gear. “I’m driving the bus.”

Without warning, the bus shot forward far faster than any vehicle in first gear should be able to go.

Ivan flew down the aisle. He swore he heard “Mmm Watcha Say” play as he fell on top of Marc’s legs.

“Ivan!” Marc yelled. “Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“No, officer,” Ivan groaned, dazed, “I don’t know that child driving the bus.”

“We lost Ivan!”

* * *

“Do you think they’re for us?” Gareth asked, frowning at the massive quantity of cupcakes in the away team locker room.

Marcelo shrugged. “Why not? Maybe we should read the note.”

Marco reached over the spread and opened the envelope to a neatly typed card. “To brighten everyone’s spirits,” he read, “we at the Madrista Fan Club have made the team cupcakes and to prepare them against Barcelona in El Clasico.”

“Yaaay, cupcakes!” Marcelo cheered, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“Wait a minute,” Rapha said, snatching the note out of Marco’s hands to analyze it. “I’ve never heard of the Madrista Fan Club. This doesn’t add up.”

“You’re right, Rapha,” a voice said from the doorway. “We baked them.”

Ivano stood with his hands shoved casually in his pockets as he leaned against the door frame much like his mother did.

Next to him, Sofia stood the tallest her frame could manage. She tried to figure out how to cross her arms over her chest, but soon gave up and placed her fists on her hips.

“Please tell me Ema’s not with you,” Sergio groaned. “The bruises she gave me last time didn’t go away for  _weeks_.”

“She’s not here,” Ivano stated.

“Thank God,” Sergio practically cried.

Rapha shook his head and bolted for the exit, slurring, “That’s not good enough for me.”

He managed to get past Ivano and Sofia before they could realize what he had planned.

“Rapha!” Ivano called after him, but the defender only increased his pace as he bolted down the hall.

Ivano made a noise of frustration. “Sofia, make sure they don’t move!” he ordered as he ran after Rapha.

“Okay, Ifano.”

The door closed behind Sofia.

The room went deadly quiet as she stared like a doll around her.

Marco edged around the perimeter of the locker room until he was a matter of steps from the door that Sofia so vigilantly guarded.

He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his jersey. “Hey there, Sofia,” he cooed.

She blinked up at him and waved. “Hi!”

“Do you think…,” Marco shrugged, “that you could let us out so we can play our game?”

Sofia shook her head. Her hair whipped across her face until several knots formed at the ends. “Nope. Ifano said you stay here.”

Marco sighed and knelt down to her eye level. “I know that, but this game is important, so we need to go out to the field.”

“No.”

An edge of agitation seeped into his tone. “ _Sofia_ , if we don’t show up Barça will hold it over our heads for the rest of time. You don’t want that, right?”

Sofia seemed to consider his words for a moment only to state confidently, “Mama said Ema was with Barceyona.”

“Oh, screw this!” Sergio exclaimed. “I’m just gonna go hide in the closet to save you and Ivano the trouble. That okay, Sofia?”

Sofia nodded. “Okay!”

Sparing no time to explain what he meant by that outburst, Sergio walked over to the nearest closet, opened the door, stepped inside, and promptly shut the door behind him.

Undeterred, Marco placed a hand under both of Sofia’s armpits and motioned to pick her up. They had a match to play. Even if they lost, it would be even more humiliating if they didn’t show up.

Sofia, it turned out, had different plans. She grabbed Marco by the elbow and used his forward position to flip him onto the floor.

Marco didn’t know what happened, but he found himself face-down on the floor with a weight on the small of his back.

Sofia announced from her knew perch. “We stay here!”

The rest of the team nodded.

Marcelo pointed at the table with the cupcakes, “I’m gonna eat one of those now.”

“Can I have one?” Sofia asked.

Marcelo smiled, “Sure, kid.”

“Bring me one, too!” Sergio’s voice echoed from the closet.

The door to the hallway flew open - Marco grunted in pain as the corner jabbed him in the chest - to reveal Ivano dragging Rapha by the back of the collar.

Ivano panted, “Sorry about that,” and stepped over Marco. “Thanks, Sofia.”

Sofia nodded as she licked the icing off her cupcake.

“So,” Marcelo said, peeling back the liner of his cupcake, “what exactly are we being held hostage for this time?”

* * *

Leo turned his wrist so the face of his watch was visible. He made a noise of concern in the back of his throat.

The match was supposed to start five minutes ago.

None of Barça was on the field, let alone on the bench. The same could be said of Marid.

No refs, no players, no nothing. Just blades of grass rustling in the wind.

The fans were restless. Grumbling and hissing already began ten minutes earlier.

Leo didn’t blame them.

Mateo poked his father’s elbow, asking, “Papa, where is everyone? When’s the game gonna start?”

If only he were able to answer that. “Not sure,” he said, ruffling Mateo’s hair, “but it has to be soon.”

A moment later, the solitary figure of Luka Modrić appeared from the tunnel and walked onto the field, head swiveling from left to right. He stopped mid-field and shrugged his shoulders before dropping his head in resignation.

“Excuse me, Lionel Messi?” a voice came over his shoulder.

Leo turned around in his seat, careful to avoid banging his elbow on the armrest to come face-to-face with Madrid’s manager.

“Vanja Bosnić,” she said, extending her hand to shake his.

“Yeah,” Leo said, unable to keep the tone of surprise out of his voice. “What can I do for you?” He glanced down again at Modrić who had taken to pacing across the pitch. “Do you know what’s happened to everyone?”

Vanja pressed her lips together and hummed. “That’s why I came to you. Would you and Mateo mind heading down to the pitch until the teams arrive?” she suggested with a warm smile. “Maybe you and Luka could kick the ball around with Mateo for a little bit. Wouldn’t want the people who paid for these tickets not to get their money’s worth, right?”

“Ummm…okay,” he said uneasily. “I wonder where they are, though. It’s not like the team to be late to a match.”

Vanja replied easily, “I’m sure they’re just stuck in traffic.”

* * *

Meanwhile, on the Barça bus, Marc held Ivan’s limp body in his arms while the Modrić child sped through the streets of Barcelona with little regard for traffic laws.

A very solid, very large building came into view and the driver showed no signs of slowing down.

“TINY MODRIĆ! STOP!” Marc bleated at a frequency he didn’t know his voice was capable of producing.

“It’s okay!” Ema shouted over the roars of fear and anger from the passengers. “Everything’s under control!”

“BULL _SHIT_!” half the bus threw back.

With no warning, Ema slammed all of her weight left into the steering wheel.

The tires of the bus screeched against the pavement. With the direction of the momentum, the bus skidded across three lanes of traffic - Ivan finally woke up with the commotion and bellowed, “EMA, IF WE DIE I’M TELLING YOUR MOTHER!” - until it wobbled to a stop in a parking spot next to the Zoo de Barcelona.

“Are we…are we dead?” Marc asked.

“No,” Ivan sighed. “Don’t be silly.”

A moment later, Ema opened the door.

“Sorry I’m late!” she called outside.

Several of the players tried to get to their feet despite their disorientation and motion sickness. Any attempts to make a break for it came to an abrupt halt when three penguins hopped up the stairs and stared at the expanse of red and blue Barcelona warm-ups.

“Then again,” Ivan said, perturbed, while he scratched his head, “I’ve been wrong before.”

* * *

Leo and Mateo walked onto the pitch in Modrić’s general direction.

“Messi,” Luka acknowledged owlishly. “What’re you doing down here?” He pointed at the cast. “You’re still injured. Do you know where everybody is, by the way?”

“You mean you don’t know  _either_?” Leo asked. Something about this whole thing was definitely fishy.

Luka’s eyes went wide and he shuffled backwards.

Leo frowned.

An obnoxious honk startled both him and Mateo.

When they turned around, Mateo made a peep that was definitely a muffled squawk while Leo swallowed down the wrong pipe.

Three penguins tilted their heads at the spectacle.

Leo opened and closed his mouth mutely as the penguins waddled past him towards one of the goals. He looked to Luka. “Are…are those-?”

“Penguins in referee uniforms? Yes. Yes they are.”

“Just checking.”

Mateo chimed in, suddenly over his initial fear of the birds, “I think they look cute.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that, hijito,” Leo said. “But that doesn’t answer what the hell a couple of penguins are doing on the pitch.”

“If it’s anything like last week’s match, they’re here to referee,” Modrić offered.

Leo snorted, “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” At Leo’s bewildered look, Luka assured, “Don’t worry. They’re actually pretty fair. It’s getting used to the fish smell that’s the problem.”

“And the fact that, y’know, our teams are missing.”

“That too.”

The penguins flapped their flippers and chirped in Luka’s and Leo’s general direction.

“Do you know what that means?” Leo asked flatly.

This day wasn’t remotely close to what he thought it was going to be, but at least Mateo looked like he was having fun.

“They want you to play a two on two match!” Vanja said as she strode onto the field with two pairs of cleats and shin guards in hand - one for Leo, one for Mateo. She gestured over her shoulder to Ivano finishing putting on his cleats. “Ema wanted to be your second,” she explained to Luka, “but she’s a little busy right now.”

* * *

Ema swung open the door of the locker room where Sofia held Real Madrid at her mercy.

“Hi, Ema!” Sofia greeted genially and smacked her lips.

Ema sighed wearily, “I wanted them to come quietly, but they kept insisting on yelling for help.”

VJR asked around a bit of his cupcake, “They?”

Ema tugged a piece of rope attached to her wrist and walked into the locker room. Behind her trailed every one of Barça’s starting eleven and substitutes for El Clasico, tied together in a line by their hands and gagged.

“You really like to tie people up, don’t you, Ema?” Gareth asked.

“Where  _do_  you keep all that rope?” Sergio grimaced from his hiding spot in the closet.

Ema shrugged. “In my pocket.”

She turned her attention back to her charges. “Are you going to be quiet and try not to escape?”

The flat glares from a number of the players was the only answer she needed…until her eyes caught Uncle Raketa staring at the giant tray of cupcakes. His sweet tooth would be his downfall.

“If you stay quiet and don’t escape you’ll each get a cupcake,” Ema bribed.

Like putty in her hands, the glares disappeared in an instant to be replaced with gleaming eyes of delight.

“Wait,” Marco said to no one in particular. “If Barça’s just now arriving, where  _have_  they been?”

Ema glanced over her shoulder and deadpanned, “Picking up the penguins.”

* * *

“Y’know,” Leo mentioned offhandedly as he and Modrić tossed the ball back and forth in a series of feet and back tricks, “El Clasico is always such a stressful match whether we win or lose so this is kind of nice.”

Next to them, Mateo and Ivano kicked the ball back and forth and even switched it up to drills every few minutes.

Leo’s lips quirked at the sight.

“They work well together,” Modrić said.

“Yeah…,” Leo breathed.

The penguins came to the center of the pitch and motioned for the four people to break into two teams.

Leo looked to Modrić for affirmation. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Modrić nodded. “It is.” He pressed his hand gently against Ivano’s back and muttered something in Croatian.

Ivano nodded and trotted closer to the goal.

“By the way,” Modrić said as he adjusted the headband over his hair, “I won’t go easy on you just because you’re injured.”

The twinkle in his eye was enough proof to convince Leo that statement was only half a joke.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he laughed and moved further upfield to join Mateo.

* * *

Luka glanced up into the stands. The fact that fans of both teams stuck around despite the literal absence of every player but himself and Messi was a testament to their dedication.

As he and Messi took their places, the crowd broke into thunderous applause.

They braced themselves for Mateo to kick the ball and begin the match.

The head referee penguin blew three times into his whistle.

Luka and Messi grinned at each other from opposite sides of the field and spurred into action.


End file.
